


I Mean This Forever

by CallousHeartz



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, and where the fuck are jet and kobra, where are they
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 15:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18449474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallousHeartz/pseuds/CallousHeartz
Summary: “I don’t know what happens after this.”





	I Mean This Forever

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from Demolition Lovers by MCR (best song ever written? yeah)  
> \- Soph xo
> 
> CW: panic attacks, sadness

"I swear it doesn't usually get dark this early,"

With the door chained shut and a boulder pressed against it for good measure, the pair take in their surroundings. 

They don't know how long they'll be here. They don't know how long it'll be just the two of them. All they know is that they're far from home, they've lost track of everything familiar to them and nothing's as it should be anymore.

"And there I was thinkin' I knew Zone 2 like the back of my hand,"  
Poison laughs. He's been doing that a lot over the past few hours: laughing softly, making light and hopeless little comments. It's not him. It's his polar opposite. It's like he bagged his attitude, dropped it on the roadside and forgot all about it.

And that's how Ghoul can tell he's fucking petrified.

"I don't think this even is Zone 2," Ghoul mumbles, scratching at the concrete ground despite the sensation on his nails and the sound combined sending chills over his back.

A couple of minutes pass - or so it feels - before Poison's shaky exhale punctures the silence.

"I don't think so, either." He says.

It's not the smallest shelter they've occupied, even as a gang of four, yet the two sit tight in one corner. Cramped as it is, Ghoul manages with some effort to dig into his jean pocket. 

He produces a little green switchblade. The actual blade is fairly blunt and hasn't been used in years, but that's not important right now. He nudges it into Poison's closed fist; the action seems to wake the Killjoy leader from whatever anxious train of thought’s been eating at him, and he holds the object up to the weakening stream of light which filters through the single window above them. He turns to face Ghoul, incredulous.

"I don't know what happens after this," Ghoul says. His voice is drained of anything in particular, "I don't know where we'll end up. That thing in your hand right now, it's been with me for like... fuck... I dunno. A long time. Couple years at least. Same pocket and everythin'. My good luck charm, I guess,"

Poison still doesn't say anything. He brushes his fingers over the smooth plastic handle, and they’re trembling a little.

"This gang's my good luck charm now," Ghoul continues, "We're my good luck charm. But this thing's been a part of me for this fuckin' long,” He smirks, “It's my signature colour an' everything. Pretty sick, huh?”

Poison feels a tug in his chest, like someone's tied a white hot knot around his windpipe and then released it all too fast. Swallowing hard, he looks back at Ghoul. His dry lips part, but he's not sure of the words he wants them to deliver.

"Wherever the fuck I end up," Ghoul touches Poison's cheek, and Poison leans into his touch, shutting his eyes and swallowing harder as if forming a barricade between the outside world and the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks, "I need part of me there with you. And this little fucker's gonna keep you safe no matter what, because I said so. I promise, Poison."

"Alright," Poison murmurs. He looks up, blinking quickly. Then he flips the blade open. Ghoul watches, solemn eyes tinted with curiousity as he lifts a single strand of bright crimson hair from his shoulder and cuts it near the root at the nape of his neck. He drapes the strand across his fingers, then holds his hand out to Ghoul. 

As if he were handling shards of glass, Ghoul takes the lock of hair. His eyes fall shut as he kisses it, before he slips it into his jacket pocket. Poison mirrors his action, sliding the blade shut and zipping it up in his jacket.

You could hear a pin drop in the room.  
The little amount of light they’ve got is fading as Ghoul lies back, propping his head in Poison's lap and stretching his sore legs out ahead of him. Between the cold, stiff ground beneath him and the fingers in his scruffy black hair, his mind seems to skip over the warm tears streaming seemingly out of nowhere down his face. It's not until Poison scoops him up into a sitting position, pulling him close to his body and resting his chin on the top of his head, that he notices.

All at once, Ghoul’s bound tightly by the giddy feeling crawling into his guts and the odd shrinking, pounding sensation in his skull, his throat constricts with erratic sobs. He can feel the pins and needles multiplying and spreading in each limb with every passing, dragging second. His fingertips sink into Poison's jacket, and he tries with all the willpower he has to keep his mind on the familiar arms, firm yet gentle, cradling him tight rather than the possibilites, the fears of what's outside and what's miles away.

He can’t make a sound. They don’t know what’s out there. He can’t make a sound. They don’t know what’s out there. He can’t...

As his mind fills up with dizzy static, Ghoul can just about feel Poison burying his lips in his hair, whispering barely audible affirmations, fingertips grazing the shell of his ear. 

He's so, so tired.

Letting himself fall slack, he lays his head on Poison's chest, pressing into the fabric of his tank top and inhaling his scent, which he can just about discern wrapped up in sweat and dirt and petrol. He starts to count heartbeats - his eyes are screwed shut as he listens, and he taps his finger weakly on the ground with each one. Just to be certain.

_..19..20..21.._

A little closer to feeling reassured, Ghoul sits up straight, wobbling slightly in the process.

"Poison, I- I need them," His voice feels detached as it comes out, far away. But then again, so does every part of his body.  
"I- I need them h-here. So bad," 

He grabbles around for Poison’s hand. On finding it, he clasps it so tight his own fingers begin to ache, palm red and knuckles pale.

"I need them too," Poison's voice cracks, and he glances at the door. Then he shakes his head and lays down, curling up. There’s a glassy look in his eyes, like a sizeable fragment of his soul’s been cut away, which isn’t far from the truth. It’s probably a good thing the room’s gotten too dark for Ghoul to notice.

Laying as close as physically possible, Ghoul locks both arms around him.  
He grips him like he's the last human on Earth besides himself.  
Though it’s frightening to acknowledge, it kind of does feel that way. 

Poison’s lips brush his own, before sinking right into them, and for a moment everything around them and everything in their minds melts and seeps away through a crack in the floor. 

“They’ll be back tomorrow,” Ghoul says decidedly. He sits up, as if devising a plan in his head, “And if they’re not, whoever’s responsible’s gonna have their teeth knocked clean outta their filthy skull,”

Poison smiles. It’s been merely a few hours since this side of Ghoul’s been out, but _Witch,_ he’s missed it like fuck.

“Damn straight,” He murmurs, joining him and sitting up, “No one fucks with me and you. No one,”

Ghoul grins as he wraps an arm around Poison, who links fingers with the hand hanging over his shoulder, softly kissing the thumb.  
“Yeah, ‘cause everyone’s shit scared of us,”

Poison gives a short hum in agreement, smirking to himself. His voice is low and dark as he replies,  
“And so they should be.” 

They find eachother’s lips in the dark once again. When the sun comes up, the world won’t stand a chance.


End file.
